“Every so often, she thought she could hear a sound coming from the other side of the thin wall and would turn her head a little, trying to catch the sound. For a minute, she heard nothing. Then the sound came again and she knew what it was. A child was crying. She glanced at John Austin. It seemed so long ago that he was a child, with only crying to speak for what hurt him or what he needed. It was hard for her to believe this little brother of hers was merely eight years old. He had not even c...ried when their mother died. Instead, he had comforted her, telling her that Mama had gone to heaven to meet Papa. She would be able to walk there and would be happy. A pounding on the door brought her up with a start, and she went to it. The hotel man stood there with a pan of stew, bowls, a flat tin of cornbread and a jug of milk, all balanced on a heavy tray. He set the tray on the bureau. “Leave the pots outside the door when yore done, or else come down with ’em.” His bold eyes appraised her.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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